"Thank you for calling After Hours First Care, this is Sadie" is how my night began last night. Ummmm yeah, How late are you guys open and do you have an X-ray machine on site? I replied. And we're off. Girls out of the shower, scantily clad nighties (when did the 8 yr old get so tall her night gown barely covers her bottom?). Put on your robes, I shouted, we're going to the Urgent Care. I was girl down. Excruciating pain in my left elbow accompanied with headache, neckache, earache, you name it-it ached. Me and my medical degree had been googling my symptoms for most of the afternoon to the point of convincing myself I was having a heart attack. That, then lead to an outrageously hyperventilating session of panic onset with the 110 pound lab howling at me to breathe. Big Game was of course running late from work and when I finally did speak to him, he told me to call the dr. I did. And through tears of anxiety driven emotion, he finally said to me, you could have gout (isn't that an 1850's disease?) or gastroentinitis. Ok, well then, as the pains shot through some more and my hubby loudly telling me why do we have insurance then, just go, the girls and I piled into the Armada and I politely turned the movie on and asked them not to talk to me. We arrive, we check in, we're told 45 minutes, relax. You relax first Sadie, I thought. She was actually a very nice girl, very Utah. This time allowed me to survey my surroundings. There was the little boy brought in by his dad with some kind of feverish red cheeks and a cough. He was sitting right by the fish tank, which of course my girls wanted to look at, and I'm sure some germs were exchanged in that process! There was the lady holding her back (whose husband didn't lock the door when he went to the bathroom and I walked in on later, but I digress), another lady with a hobble, and then in walks Grandpa Joe with his grandson whose grand entrance included loudly pointing to Hot Sadie at the front desk and in an "I've survived WW2 so I can talk as loud as I want to voice" he tells his grandson, she's too young for me and too old for you, isn't that a shame? Why yes it is Grandpa Joe. Grandson Bobby was mortified or turned on, I couldn't tell. As 45 minutes turned into a 2 hour wait, I saw a very prego lady enter, some teenager with her mom (probably a case of mono), and another boy with his dad. It looked like football injury day at the urgent care. The pregger changed chairs so she wouldn't have to watch Grandpa Joe wolf down an Astroburger while trying to blow his nose without vomiting. I, of course, had a grandstand seat across from him the entire time. He began to grow on me, similar to a wart. He truly cared about his grand-boy and was proud his chin was split open by number 88 and told him through a french fry chew, he'd have to learn to be tougher. By the end of my stay in the waiting area, he had me convinced. It must have been a full moon, I don't know, but I could relate to Grandson Bobby's mortification when the dr looked at me like I had 8 heads as he diagnosed me with tennis elbow and a sinus infection. Good times Dr. Sean. I felt like an idiot, told him about the googling, and he asked me if I'd like some prozac. Welcome to Utah, where Prozac can be distributed by your Starbucks Barista as you await your double tall Machiatto. I told him no, I'd take Xanax instead. His bald head winked at me when he laughed. No, really. As my elbow aches in typing this I think of those I spent last night with and smile. We're all connected, we're all the same. Hot Sadie, Nurse newly married with the shiny ring, and Dr. Sean. Thank you urgent care for leaving the light on and good luck with number 88 next time grandson Bobby. Be well.
